Streaking
by hippiechick2112
Summary: Father Mulcahy is driving back from the orphanage when he sees something...interesting running in the road. Part four of "Priestly Blunders".


**Streaking**

**Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I still don't own M*A*S*H and its characters, plots and storylines. However, I wish I did, I wish I might! And I also am sorry about the rating. It's there for a reason, just in case someone gets a bad idea.**

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It had been a wonderful day at the orphanage today, I thought, as I drove back to the 4077th in my usual silence. Cold, but it was a great day for all of us, nonetheless. The late autumn air with its crispness and sunshine had given the orphans something to look forward to as they played without fear of war, even if the cold coming within another month was never welcoming to them.

For me, though, it had been a great success. After completing so many forms that Radar had been kind to tell me about (and help process quicker), I had been able to bring food and medical supplies to the orphanage. Although I must say, the former wasn't as welcome as I thought it would be. The children knew that Army food was as gross as the garbage they've had to pick out of before the good Sisters took them into their care. However, they were good enough to eat some before complaining to me about it.

I think. I couldn't understand them right, but I was sure they talked to me about the bad food.

Luckily, and best of all, God has not only blessed me with a good day at the orphanage, but also a quiet ride back to the camp. From the time I jumped into this jeep until now, five miles from the camp, I have heard and seen nothing, assured that my prayers were answered for today and I had no test from Him. Usually, I am whispering a behest to Him, asking him to keep me alive as gunfire and bombs explode around me. God has usually spared me another day when this happened, albeit I am exhausted and dirty. And I've been extremely fortunate thus far even with the bad rides home, but I also knew that there was time before someone's luck ran out, granted that God gave it to me.

Anyhow, I was driving at about twenty miles per hour and a mile away from the next checkpoint when I saw a flash of dark flesh streak past me. I knew it was a human in an instant, but I could not tell _what_ or even _who _it was. All I saw was something that resembled hair and a hat, I'm sure of it. And I had an idea of who it might be.

I braked and eventually stopped the jeep and let it run, only turning around to see what I saw at the corner of my eye, my hands trembling as I fastened my helmet back on. With so much quiet around me, it was not hard to see who and what was going on.

It was Klinger of course, naked as he ran in the opposite direction, towards the Front, if he kept north. And all he had on was a nurse's brown hat. He didn't even have his customary rifle, for when he was on his nightly patrols. He had a grenade in his hands. Whether it was alive or a dud, I could not say.

"Klinger, what are you doing?" I called out to him loudly, embarrassed and feeling my face turn beet red. "Why are you without clothes? Do you need a dress and high heels?"

Gasping with some fear as he halted about ten yards away from me and the jeep, Klinger turned to face me, showing me his…well, his thing. "Oh, gee, I'm sorry, Father," he yelled back as his hair waved at me from all sides. "I didn't mean to scare ya."

"Klinger, get back here!" I knew at once that he was escaping from camp again and Colonel Blake was not going to be pleased with what happened again. "I can get you a new…umm, dress and clothe you before we get back to camp. Nobody has to know that you ran away!"

"Sorry again, Father," Klinger only replied to me, smiling as he saluted me and then to the skies (presumably to God, just for me). "I have to show them that I'm nuts. I have to have that Section Eight discharge and go home!"

And with that, Klinger turned right around with his grenade, showing me a hairy behind, and ran, faster than I've ever seen a man run before. He was streaking faster than a bullet at the Front Lines.

I faced forward, dumbstruck and also stuck in a dilemma. I could leave Klinger to his own devices and allow him to get in trouble with Colonel Blake and Majors Burns and Houlihan for desertion once more. Or, I could drive after him, get him some clothes before the checkpoint (a dress even) and get him back to camp alive, before he gets into more trouble. Klinger himself could get killed, via stoning by the locals because of being naked or the Front Line bombings, which could strike anyone.

I shook my head sadly, coming to a decision finally, the most obvious one that God could give me. I pulled the jeep in reverse and drove after Klinger, not daring to go more than twenty miles an hour. That, surely, would get me to Klinger in no time at all. I knew that I could go at least forty miles an hour, but I did not want to miss that Lebanese man again.

"Come back here, Klinger!" I yelled in a silly, vengeful voice, shaking my fist like I was in a mock fight. "Come back here or there'll be hell to pay. And I won't be the one doing it!"


End file.
